


The Rant

by arlenejp



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: John is angry, John is no puppet, M/M, Sherlock gets the brunt of Johns wrath, is there a way to calm John
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-19
Updated: 2020-04-19
Packaged: 2021-03-01 20:54:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23723398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arlenejp/pseuds/arlenejp
Summary: We all let off steam and John does that!
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Comments: 8
Kudos: 19





	The Rant

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this in one sitting. Forgive any mistakes. Enjoy!

How hard is it to leave a note?  
To give your flatmate, your only flatmate a reason to breathe. To feel relieved that he knows where you are and/or when your approximate time home will be.  
Even more important, why not take your flatmate with you?

* * *

Two days! A flipping two days and no word from him! Not a scribble on a piece of paper, a text to deliver a message that you're here or there, a call announcing a quick 'I'm okay.'  
I'm so furious I could spit iron, and I'm insane with worry.

* * *

Such a tiring and aggravating day! I'm already out of sorts as I stomp up the stairs, and open the door.

My coat slides off one shoulder and as I whirl about-- I see--the damn fuck sitting in his chair, legs crossed, holding a book.  
Like nothing has happened! Like he hasn't thrown my stomach into a swirling mess.

I growl.  


Throwing my coat on the floor, I advance on him. "you stupid, fucker. You absolute idiot! Where have you been? No, never mind that, why haven't you gotten in touch with me? Or--," stepping close, my knees contacting his, "why couldn't you have waited and taken me with you?"  
I run my fingers through my hair and about-face to the other side of the flat.  
"John, would you kiss me?" his voice deep and husky.  
"Do you know how I--" glued to the floor, my eyes widen, eyebrows lift to the ceiling. "What did you say?" revolving on point.  
His mouth begins opening, but my arm shoots out, finger pointing at him, wagging at him," No, don't you say anything. Don't you speak a word, you hear me? Keep your trap shut."  
His mouth snaps together sharply enough to hear his teeth clatter.  
"Aha, just like you," reversing my position, stomping to the kitchen to pick up the teapot from the stove, all the while talking, no sputtering is more like it.  
" Diverting my attention from the real issue. Kiss you indeed."  
I stop mid-way, pot in the air, and face in his direction, not able to catch sight of him from this direction.  
"Kiss you? What the fuck are you thinking? Another maneuver on your part to shift this conversation. As you always manage to do. Divert the blame from you to me."  
I bang the pot on the stove so hard it rattles the pan on the other burner. "You think you can waltz in here after you got my gut in a turmoil, twisting my brain so I couldn't take care of any of my patients these two days--yea you shithead. Two whole fucking days of not eating, not sleeping."

I resume my hold on the teapot and turn on the faucet for water, letting it run into the pot. I hear myself screeching like a cat, unable to simmer down, "and here you are, sitting in your chair like the queen of England. Shit."  
So preoccupied with my tirade, the water begins spilling over and onto my hand. I drop the pot into the sink, shake my hand, and stomp into the parlor.  
Advancing on him, I bend, my hands each clasp one of his wrists to restrain them on the arm of the chair.  
"You shit, you piece of dirt," moving my head closer and closer, I touch his lips. A light glance, and I spring instantly up and away.  
"You made me do that, "rushing to the farthest end of the room, pulling at my hair, my shirt.  
"Geez, you said kiss you, and I did." My fists pound on my thighs, trying to make sense of that disaster I--no--he created.  
"You did that. I don't know how, but you made me do that. "  
I'm driven by an unseen force to creep, to slither like a snake towards him.  
"I should slap you silly."  
Instead, I twist my body closer, and my lips crush, mash, grind his mouth with mine.  
A burst of moans. My moans. Emanating from my mouth!  
I pull away, turn about, and about again.  
"It's you--your damn mind. You're using your superior mental mind to bend me to your will. Some sort of brain wave," squeezing my head between my hands." Some intellectual 'ET' thing. To bring me to heel. A magnetic field, or such. I don't know. You're confusing me. Go away," my arm shooing the invisible something away.  
I travel the entire space of the parlor, aimlessly to and fro.  
"You think you can say,"--mocking his voice,--" ' kiss me, John.' And like a puppy on a leash, I'll do your bidding. No, better yet--like a damn robot? "  
Shifting to stare at the statue-like figure," yes, that's it. Your damn little robot. John do this, John take this, John, John. John. And all the time I'll jump on the box, panting for more. Give--me a crumb, and--and-- I'll be satisfied," so out of breath, I can hardly speak.  
My head hangs on my chest, tears dribble from my eyes, my hands are listless at my side, fingers trembling.  
"What do you want from me? Why?" emotion drains, and I slump, trying to quiet myself but the rage reappears.  
"Stand up, you fuck, you conceited, egomaniacal, shit," shrieking as I advance closer to him.  
Step into his space. Toe to toe. My eyes never move off his features. My hands hang at my sides.  
"Kiss me, John Watson."


End file.
